


Let Go of Me

by ozhawk, storieaddict



Series: The Soulmates Continue [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Fantastic Four (Movies 2005-2007), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Gen, Light Dom/sub, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/pseuds/ozhawk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/storieaddict/pseuds/storieaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is expanded/adapted from ozhawk's Soulmate Shorts.  I have used her beginning and added to the 1st chapter. In it, SHIELD has taken up residency in in Latveria, a small Baltic country of which Victor von Doom (aka Dr. Doom) is the monarch.   Von Doom has offered the team assylum and funding--the only snag is the discovery of his fiesty soul mate.  </p><p>**It should be noted in these Soulmate Shorts, that soul mates are born with the first words their soul mates will say to them tattooed somewhere on their bodies in the soul mate's handwriting. It's how soul mates identify each other.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Soulmate Shorts AKA The Crackship Armada](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658407) by [ozhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/pseuds/ozhawk). 



> This first chapter is adapted from “Soulmate Shorts” by the lovely ozhawk. She created this lovely scenario, and now she’s letting me play with it! Bwahahaha! If you haven’t been reading her “Soulmate Shorts,” GO READ IT—it’s awesome!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Skye/Victor von Doom_
> 
>  
> 
> DoomQuake (which sounds awfully ominous)
> 
>  
> 
> **Theme song:**
> 
>  
> 
> **David Bowie - Heroes**

 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/thoughtfuldoom_zpseaee08b7.jpg.html)

 

“Remind me again _why_ we are dealing with a dictator?”

Skye sounded outraged. Coulson sighed and looked at her. _How was everything still so black and white to Skye?_ he wondered. _After everything she’s seen, everything she’s been through_ …

“Skye, there are dictators and then there are _dictators_. Victor von Doom may be an absolute monarch, but he’s no Mugabe. Latveria was an impoverished Baltic nation fighting to keep from being swallowed up by its neighbours when Doom ascended the throne. Today, Latverians have the highest standard of living of any nation on Earth.”

“And closed borders,” Skye snapped back. “No immigration or emigration.”

“Again not strictly true. Doom is just very, very picky about who he allows citizenship to. Productive members of society only. Unemployment is less than one per cent, and those who are disadvantaged or handicapped are assisted. Frankly, if I was Latverian? I wouldn’t _want_ to emigrate.”

“Humph,” Skye muttered. “I still think it’s wrong. All those people living in luxury…”

“Skye, ten years ago _all those people_ were starving to death! I was in Latveria once, back in ’96, I think it was…” Phil shook his head. “A more miserable hellhole I’ve never seen. Doom has worked miracles. And he says he’s willing to provide S.H.I.E.L.D. with a safe haven on European soil, and bankroll our operations. He believes in what we’re doing and he hates HYDRA. So please. Mind your manners.”

“Am I still allowed to _think_ he’s an asshole?” Skye muttered angrily.

“Plenty of people do, I believe,” a smooth, deep voice said behind her, making her jump and let out a shocked scream, fumbling for the weapon she’d had to surrender before entering the receiving hall. She whirled, trying to strike out, but two large hands suddenly had hold of her wrists, holding her still.

“Looks like your boss isn’t the only asshole around here!” she snapped at the tall, dark, handsome man before her. He reminded her of Ward, a little, though he was probably a few years older. And even better-looking, his beautifully symmetrical features only accentuated by a tiny scar on one cheek.

Dark brows angled downwards over striking blue eyes. For a long moment they stared at each other, and then he looked at Coulson.

“Would you care to enlighten her, Director?”

“Skye,” Coulson said rather nervously, “you’ve just insulted the President of Latveria. Twice. And attempted to assault him. Please stand down.”

“Get away from me,” Skye snapped, ignoring Coulson completely. “Let go of me!”

“And why should I do that?” Those mobile dark brows arched, and he smiled slowly. “I think you’re the first person ever to think anyone might be my ‘boss’, and quite probably the last. So are you going to show me the words, or am I going to have to make you?”

“No,” Skye gasped out, struggling against his grip. Too spooked to even think about using her power against him – not that she would dare, she’d never tried it against another human being and it might just kill him and…

“ _No!_ I don’t _want_ you, you stand for everything I hate!”

“So did S.H.I.E.L.D., once,” Phil murmured, watching with fascination as he realised what was happening. As Doom’s sleeve slid up his forearm with Skye’s struggles, revealing a line of words around his wrist in her spiky handwriting. “I really am going to have to ask you to let her go, Mr. President.”

He let her struggle for a moment longer, just long enough to make it quite clear that she couldn’t get away if he didn’t want her to. And then he let go, and surprised Skye by making a small bow to her.

“That, I believe, was the very definition of a bad beginning, and I hope you won’t hold it against me. Good day. I am Victor von Doom. It’s nice to meet you.”

Skye looked down at the hand he held out to her, that large, powerful hand that had gripped like steel around her wrist. Looked up into those startlingly blue eyes.

“This is Agent Skye, sir,” Phil said quietly when she couldn’t find her voice. She did manage to raise her hand to shake his, and was stunned again when he lifted it to his lips in an old-fashioned courtesy. The slight brush of his lips against her knuckles sent a shiver down her spine.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Victor said courteously, his eyes locked with the dark gaze of the slight woman who held the missing half of his soul. And who apparently hated his guts.

“Um,” Skye said helplessly, for once utterly lost for words. “Hi.”

She heard Phil choke next to her, and then Doom turned to Coulson with a charming smile.

“Director, I do apologise for any inconvenience, but I’m sure you understand I’ve been rather thrown a curveball here.”

_YOU’VE been thrown a curveball!_

Phil was nodding, though, the traitorous bastard, and _smiling_. “Yes, sir, I do understand. Perhaps you’d like me to go and sit, um, over there?” He gestured to the very far end of the extremely large and opulent reception room they’d been shown into. Doom nodded and smiled back, so he headed off, choosing a seat right in the corner where he could still see them but wouldn’t hear their conversation. Not unless Skye started screaming, anyway.

“This is weird,” Skye finally found her voice. “How are you my soulmate? You’re a, a, a…” she couldn’t quite come up with the word.

“Please don’t say super-villain, it’s so cliché,” he sighed.

“Monarch!”

“And you’re an anti-establishment anarchist. Or you _were_ ,” he arched his eyebrows at her. “You changed your mind about S.H.I.E.L.D., Skye. Give me a chance to make you change your mind about me, too.”

He was still, somehow, holding onto the hand he’d kissed. He lifted it back to his lips, brushed them over her knuckles again, and smiled into her eyes.

“I think we could achieve great things together.”

* * *

 

**A/N:Okay, now we’re getting into my portion of the fic.  I hope you enjoy it—as always, please comment!**

“I think we could achieve great things together.”

Skye felt her blood run cold with that statement, along with the acquisitive look in his eye.  She was really, _really_ done with being some power-hungry man’s idea of the perfect woman.  First Miles, then Ward, even her psychopath father thought she was everything he needed to complete his crazy plans. She tugged on the hand he still held, and he frowned slightly as he released it.  A very small, rebellious part of her did not like making him frown—and that irrational reaction to his displeasure absolutely terrified her.  She had to make her own decisions, not worry about how a stranger was feeling—soulmate or no soulmate.

Skye took a deliberate step back—oh, that was better, the air was a bit easier to breathe farther away from him, and taking a restorative breath, she looked back into the wintry blue of his eyes.  “I’m already achieving great things with S.H.I.E.L.D., with my team, thanks all the same.”

Victor had to fight very hard not to smirk.  He did so enjoy a woman who knew her own mind—especially when she was practically begging him to change it. His agile mind drifted for a moment on what else he could make her beg for. The spark in those lovely dark eyes might as well have been a red flag in front of a bull.  _Challenge accepted_ , he mused as he decided it was to his best advantage to make a strategic retreat.  It wasn’t like she could go far—he ran the damn country.  Maybe it was time to remind her of that.

“Of course,” Victor nodded a vague dismissal in her direction while purposefully diverting his attention to Coulson.  He could practically hear the little vixen seethe as he disregarded her. “Director, welcome to Latveria.  I have other matters to attend to at present, but you and your associates are invited to stay here in the manse until we find other, more appropriate, accommodations for you.”

Phil walked forward and stuck out his hand in a very American gesture, “Thank you, Mr. President.  It’s nice to have a home base again.”

“My pleasure,” Victor shook Coulson’s hand and barely resisted looking toward his tempting little soulmate again—pleasure, indeed. He began to exit, but paused at the door and locked eyes with Skye. Amazing, he could physically feel his body’s urge to walk back to her; it was like a silken cord tying them together. “After all,” he practically purred, “we’re all on the same team now, aren’t we?”   On that last thought, he winked deliberately at Skye and left the room.

Phil whistled low as he surveyed the indignation that was quickly morphing into rage racing across Skye’s face in the form of a dark flush.  If she clenched her jaw any harder, she was going to crack a molar.  “You know,” he said unassumingly putting his sunglasses back on, “this would be a really lousy time for an earth quake.”

If looks could kill, Coulson would have been dead—again.  He put his hands up in mock surrender, “I’m just saying—bad timing.”

Skye closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose as May had taught her, “Yeah well, bad timing is pretty much my M.O.”

Coulson laughed, draping an arm around her slim shoulders for a one-armed squeeze.  Normally, Phil wasn’t this informal with his recruits, but Skye had already had a hell of a day.  “Maybe he’ll grow on you.”

“Oh, and what makes you think that?”

“He is the leader of an entire country—he has to be charming at least most of the time.”

Skye narrowed her eyes at Phil, “Are you implying he’s my prince charming?”

Phil’s mouth quirked, “President charming.”

Skye snorted, “Oh whatever.”

It was good to see her smile—she hadn’t done that much since Puerto Rico. “Come on,” Coulson said, “let’s go get tell the others they get to live in a castle.”

“Manse.”

“Semantics.”


	2. Changing Terms

 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/smirk_zps7f458ddf.jpg.html)

 

Coulson used a knuckle to scratch away the sweat that was beading between his brows.  “Honestly, Mr. President,” he briefly reminded himself he could _not_ punch the monarch of Latveria in the middle of his superior expression.  Really. He couldn’t. “I really think you’re over estimating my influence on Skye.”

“Nonsense,” Victor’s face broke into that charming and disarming smile again.  Von Doom knew how to wield a smile as accurately as his deadly silences. “I don’t expect you to coerce her—she’s my soulmate, Mr. Coulson.  I merely want to ensure that I get the chance to make a better impression.”

“And you think demanding that she spend a minimum of 30 minutes in your company every day is the best way to make an impression….sir?” Phil really didn’t want to add the “sir” on the end, but it was only polite—even if this guy was acting like a lunatic, he was still the rich lunatic offering them asylum.

When Von Doom only continued to stare passively back at him, Phil began to pace.  The pacing was mostly to keep himself from laughing—a dictator Von Doom might be, but he had a lot to learn about managing a certain hacktivist who had a real problem with authority. It went against Coulson’s nature to even consider this proposal; then again it might be really entertaining to watch Skye tap dance on this smug jackass’s face.

“I’ll tell her your proposal, but if she refuses,” Phil paused and stared Von Doom down, “well, we’ve been on the run before.”

Victor inclined his head, “Very good.”

Phil excused himself from Victor’s office, going off, no doubt, to tell Skye of the latest developments in the deal with Latveria.  Victor was forced to admire the loyalty the members of S.H.I.E.L.D. showed to one another.  In many other diplomatic discussions, a concession of one soul mate spending time with another wouldn’t have even been a talking point.  The fact that Coulson left the fate of the team up to Skye… that spoke highly of the man’s character.  Of course, he smirked superiorly to himself, that also put his lovely Skye in quite the predicament.  She could acquiesce to his demands and spend time with Victor—obviously resulting in her falling in love with him—or she could doom her team to a gypsy’s life with no home and no welcome anywhere they went.  Victor had lived the gypsy life; he knew which option Skye would choose. 

Victor would give her time to make her choice, even if it was only between the choices that suited him best; it wouldn’t do for the president of Latveria to seem to kowtow to the demands of any person, man or woman, soulmate or no soulmate.

* * *

 

“Who does he think he is?” Skye roared at the top of her lungs. 

Coulson winced, upset though Skye might be by the news, that shriek was several decibels higher than strictly necessary.

“Skye, what’s wrong?” Jemma came tearing into the room at top speed.  The poor biochemist looked like she’d just woken up from a nap (jet lag could be a real problem when you rode around on a plane as fast as the bus), her wavy hair was smashed flat on one side of her head and she was in her sloppiest pajamas. 

The windows rattled lightly in their frames, and small objects around the room began to vibrate on their tables. Skye was doing her best to hold it together—no sign of the foundation moving, just small untethered things near her dancing and skittering around.

Jemma, fearless (and reckless sometimes) Jemma, flung her arms around Skye and squeezed her tightly.  “Breathe Skye, just breathe.  Whatever has you so worked up, I promise I’ll dissect it into a million squishable pieces later.  Right now you just need to calm down.”

Fitz came past the room—Skye swore sometimes those two shared a brain—and stopped short seeing the two girls huddled together in the room.  “Jemma—what…?” He looked around at some of the chaos in the room, and yanked Jemma backwards off Skye.

“Fitz!” Jemma scolded.

He shook his head, in the way he had since Ward had left them in the bottom of the ocean.  “She can’t—uh” he motioned to Skye, “you know.”

“Breathe?” Skye provided.

“Breathe—right—when you’re—uh,” he gestured roughly, hopelessly at Skye.

“Wrapped around me that tightly?” Skye tried again. 

“Yea—good,” his communication skills failing him again, he looked a question at Skye, putting a hand on her arm in a concerned way.

“I’m fine, Fitz,” Skye assured him.  He lifted an eyebrow as a remote control landed loudly on the hardwood floors, and Skye couldn’t help but laugh.  The vibrations calmed down, and everyone took a deep breath. 

 _Good old Fitz_ , Coulson mused.  The still brilliant, but woefully damaged engineer was exactly the reality check the team needed.  This new development wasn’t really that bad. Coulson seated himself in one of the incredibly comfortable couches the common rooms provided. All in all, while the Latverian manse was certainly more luxurious than the accommodations on the bus, the general feeling of communal living was essentially the same.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had been temporarily assigned an entire wing for their exclusive use.  Every team member was assigned their own room, complete with bathrooms and opulent furnishings.  Yet, on each floor was a large common room that allowed the team to gather as they had at the Playground and other S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities. 

Fitz picked up the remote control, handing it to Jemma like a baton with a significant look. “Right—er,” she glanced between Skye and Coulson, “may we know what upset you so much?”

With Skye’s permission, Coulson explained Von Doom’s latest demand.

“So… wait,” Jemma and Fitz exchanged a look, “he thinks this kind of demand is acceptable?  What kind of a soulmate is he?”

“Des—desperate,” Fitz nearly coughed out.

“Sounds like he needs manners,” Bobbi called out from the doorway.  She was leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb, “Sorry to interrupt, but I heard the commotion, and it was way more interesting than yoga.”

Coulson grinned to himself—this was the benefit of common areas.  The team members could be together without feeling like they were really intruding.  It wasn’t long until the other members of the team started filing in, all trying to help Skye troubleshoot the problem.

“You’re all asking the wrong question,” May spoke quietly, but as usual, when she deigned to speak, everyone listened.  She was positioned near one window, looking out at the grounds surrounding the manse. “It’s not ‘why does he think he has the right to demand anything?’” May continued, “It’s ‘why does he think he _needs_ to demand?’”

Bobbi pursed her lips, “Fair point.” She was lying on a sofa now, kicking her legs over one arm, looking over at Lance, who was studiously ignoring her (again) from the other end of the room, “Why would a man feel the need to demand time with his soulmate.  Why wouldn’t he just seek her out?”

Jemma’s eyes got a faraway, fairytale look, “Maybe he’s shy?” She suggested hopefully, hugging her knees as she sat against the front of the couch.  Fitz nearly turned chartreuse with the effort of concentrating on the bits of metal he and Mack were playing around with in the corner.

“You didn’t meet him yet,” Skye dismissed the idea, “being ‘shy’ isn’t really in this guy’s wheelhouse.”

“It’s a power play,” Bobbi said sitting up, a dog scenting a trail. “He—supreme power broker in the kingdom and all—wants to set the ground rules for your relationship.”

Sparks flashed in Skye’s eyes, “Oh I don’t much like rules.” She looked up at the group, “I’ll go along with his crazy deal because we need a base of operations—no, we do” she replied firmly when the team began to demur. “But every good hacker knows,” she said with a devious little smile, “that when playing by the host’s rules will get you busted, you have to change the rules to suit you.”

Coulson sighed inwardly; he knew that look flashing in Skye’s eyes. Victor Von Doom had no idea what his machinations were about to trigger. Phil almost felt bad for the guy.  Almost.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know Doom is being manipulative… but he’s Doom. Plus, so many of these soulmates fall instantly for each other. I just don’t think Doom would do this the easy way (and Lord knows Skye never does ANYTHING the easy way). Prepare for some conflict and a little slow burn in the upcoming chapters!


	3. Healing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In this AU, I’m merging the Dr. Doom from the Fantastic Four movies with the Dr. Doom from the comics. So, this Victor has been soundly defeated (twice) by the Fantastic Four, and has gone home to Latveria to take the throne from a terrible ruler. He does have the ability to manipulate energy, but he prefers to manipulate other people into doing his dirty work rather than resorting to brute force. If you haven’t looked into Dr. Doom’s past, he’s pretty cosmically screwed up. I mean, whoa. So, yes, I am cherry-picking the aspects of Doom that I think best suit my narrative—but isn’t that the best part of being a writer (insert evil cackle here)? 
> 
> I also did a little Wikipedia research on Latveria’s location in Europe, it is snugly situated between Hungary, Romania, Serbia, and Symkaria (that’s a fake Marvel country too).

[ ](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/doomch3_zps6dfa58ba.jpg.html)

 

                Hacking Von Doom’s personal schedule turned out to be laughably simple for a computer whiz of Skye’s ability.  Really, the guy didn’t even have it password-protected.  Vaguely, she wondered if maybe his personal staff and security needed to know where he was at every second so they could protect and cater to their beloved despot’s needs.  However, as an unofficial member of the household, Skye really shouldn’t have been able to hack the schedule so easily.  It made her uncomfortable—like an itch between her shoulder blades she couldn’t quite scratch.  This had to be a major security breach or something; maybe she should mention it to the Head of Security (a joyless man named Boris) when she was done exploiting it. 

                Not, she reasoned, tucking her dark hair behind one ear as she snapped her laptop shut, that she was concerned for Von Doom’s welfare.  No, it was only that SHIELD needed the president’s support, and if he was eliminated… well, her heartrate was most likely accelerating at the thought of having to move again rather than the thought of losing her soulmate. Most likely.

                Skye considered herself a modern woman in every way.  She had known since birth she had a soulmate somewhere in the world—the words had been scrawled up her spine all her life—but she had never been comfortable with the idea that fate had determined her mate.  No, this rebel would choose her own partner, thanks all the same.  And she certainly was not willing to ever consider a super villain of Von Doom’s magnitude as a suitable partner.  Loving a bad boy was one thing, but after Ward, Skye was swearing off emotionally manipulative power hungry jerks. 

Mentally flipping fate the bird, she slipped into a pair of dark washed jeans and a soft blue sweater that hung off one shoulder, revealing the lacy navy camisole she wore under it. Pulling on the combat boots was just practical, but they did look pretty trendy with the outfit, she admitted to herself as she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror of her room.  She left her hair loose and comfortable, grabbed her nifty new cell phone, and headed out the door to keep her bargain with the Overlord (as she was calling Von Doom in her head).

                Skye had decided that she would follow the deal—that much she had let her team know.  But, she would only stick to the deal in the strictest sense of the word.  She had zero interest in getting to know Victor Von Doom beyond what was unavoidable when living in the same house as someone. Thus, she found herself outside the Manse at a ribbon cutting ceremony at a new state-of-the-art hospital.  The crowd was moderately sized, but Skye found a corner of a building to lean against where she could clearly see Victor and so he could clearly see her.

He was smiling and acknowledging the crowd, and his gaze almost slid over her without recognition, but then zeroed back on her like a laser. The heat in his blue eyes made a quick shiver roll down her spine, and the Overlord lost his toothpaste-commercial smile for just a moment. Skye nodded to him, and clicked a button she had cued on her phone.  Von Doom seemed to shake himself loose from the staring contest they were forging and reverted to the mild mannered dictator persona for the crowd. If Skye was being honest with herself, she would admit that he looked delectable in his tailored suit.  The graphite grey jacket molded to his wide shoulders, and the crisp white of his shirt collar highlighted his chiseled jaw line. Skye approved of his lack of tie—he appeared more approachable without one, but was no less of a leader for its lack. This man was hard candy, sweet but capable of cutting you if you weren’t careful.  Skye had learned to be very careful.

Von Doom stood in front of the hospital, Doomstadt General Hospital, with a cheesy pair of oversized golden scissors next to a giant ribbon in Latverian green. “Good people of Latveria,” he began and an eerie hush fell over the crowd—the kind that only happened when the speaker was universally adored or universally feared. “Good people of Latveria,” Victor repeated into the hush, “it is my honor and privilege to declare the Doomstadt General Hospital, open!” He used the big scissors to cut the ribbon, pausing mid-cut to flash the camera crews a toothy grin.

He was a public relations wet dream, Skye mused disgustedly.  He was so superficial, only interested in the photo op—and these people were eating it up.

Victor didn’t miss the look of distaste that flashed across Skye’s face.  He knew what he must appear to be to someone as jaded as her, just another corrupt politician shaking hands and kissing babies.  This wasn’t the impression he wanted to give her, especially as she had sought him out. It had done disturbingly fluttery things to his insides to see her at this event.  Maybe she was as curious about him as he was about her? Well, maybe he could use this opportunity to show her that he wasn’t quite the villain she suspected him of being.

He wasn’t scheduled to make a speech at this event, but as the applause died down, Victor approached the microphone.  He wanted to make sure she was listening, so he glanced over to where he had last seen Skye.  She was still leaning against an adjacent building—looking soft and sweet in her sweater that accentuated her darker coloring.

“I can’t tell you the joy it gives me to see you here today,” he said into the microphone.  Her eyes widened at the public spectacle he was making, and the crowd babbled restlessly, not sure whom Von Doom was addressing. Feeling his face flush slightly, Victor switched his focus back to the general assembly, “All of you,” he tried to cover.  He mustered a kind smile for the crowd, “It was not so long ago that to receive quality medical care, you would have to drive hours over rough terrain across the border to Hungary or Symkaria.  Assuming your ailment wasn’t life-threatening, and you could survive the drive, it was unlikely you could afford the high price of health care offered by our neighbors.” The people were nodding or murmuring their agreement of the horror that had been everyday life in Latveria. “Your other option was to rely on untrained healers who were educated only by their forefathers and used outdated methodology more suited to witch doctors than physicians.” Again, the crowd rumbled approval.

“My father,” Victor continued, “was such a healer among my people—the Romani.” Everyone seemed stunned; Skye certainly was.  Victor Von Doom was notoriously private about his personal life, especially any life before he became the President of Latveria. “His skills were sought out in every town our caravan passed through.  Even your former king called on his aid for his ailing queen.  But my father was not a doctor,” Victor shook his dark head sadly, blue eyes downcast.  “He had no formal training or real access to medicine,” he tried to swallow past the thickening in his throat, “and he was unable to save the queen.”

Skye found herself thawing slightly toward Victor, this story was obviously painful and there was a piece of her that wanted to offer him comfort.  Skye mentally squashed that part of herself—she would _not_ be seduced by showmanship.

“His ignorance led to his persecution across Latveria in the middle of winter.”  Everyone remained silent; they all knew how dangerous and unpredictable winter could be in their country. “I was only eight years old when I lost my father—and only because the queen herself could not access decent medical care inside her own borders.”

There was another pregnant pause, and even Skye’s mental diatribe couldn’t find anything to snark at in the open pain on Von Doom’s face. He was _hurting_ , and something deep inside her responded to his pain.  That part wanted nothing more than to go to him, to take him into her arms to comfort him.  It took a huge effort of will to force herself to remain still.

“When I became your leader,” Victor continued, voice burning with passion, “I promised this country, and myself, that never again would we be subjected to that kind of helplessness. Doomstadt General Hospital is just the beginning; the government is funding the creation of five new hospitals this year.  Two of those hospitals will be cutting edge teaching environments with advanced research facilities.” The crowd began applauding quietly, the sound reaching a crescendo that Von Doom had to yell over to be heard, “My people, let us be well.  And for those who are not well, let us heal—together.” He held up his hands, symbolically embracing the crowd—some of whom were openly weeping.  Skye couldn’t blame them; there was a suspicious pricking behind her own eyes.  Victor was either being incredibly sincere, or he had missed his true calling and there was an academy award somewhere with his name on it.

Victor blinked his eyes against the after-burn images the flashbulbs were leaving behind, seeking out Skye.  She raised her eyebrows at him, clapping her hands together three, four times before crossing them across her chest.  He had no idea what she was thinking, and that enigmatic expression on her face was infuriating.  He wanted to know if she had been touched by his revelation, but her face might as well have been carved from marble. Keeping the smile plastered on his face, Victor mentally cursed the media and led the people into the new hospital.

Skye checked the timer she had clicked as soon as Von Doom had made eye contact with her in the square.  21:53, about eight more minutes and she would leave.  That gave her plenty of time to check out the hospital facilities as Jemma had asked her.  The biochemist was incredibly curious about the new hospital and whether she might be able to find a spare lab for her purposes, so Skye had promised a detailed description.

“So, what do you think?” asked a sexy, familiar voice behind her.

She whirled and had to look up into his blazing blue eyes.  Damnit, _how_ did he do that? May would kill her if she knew Skye had been so distracted as to not hear Von Doom coming up the alley behind her. “Uh—I mean, it’s great.” Had she planned it, Skye was fairly certain she couldn’t have created a lamer comment.

Victor’s smile softened around the edges, and his eyes crinkled appealingly, “I’m glad you approve.”

That small part of Skye that kept responding to Victor flared up alarmingly at that smile. This was exactly the reason she did _not_ want to be caught alone with him.  She knew how soul bonds worked.  Even if the two people were diametrically opposed to the match, they would be drawn to each other to complete the bond (which was the polite way society had of explaining why soul mates almost always had crazy hot monkey sex within days of meeting each other). After the bond was complete, there was no going back.  The mated pair couldn’t happily live without each other.  Suicides were common when one half of a soulmate bond died unexpectedly. _Romeo and Juliet_ was the classic documented case of bonded soulmates gone bad—drilled into every high school freshman as a cautionary tale. The only chance Skye had to escape from this …. thing between Von Doom and herself was to keep him at arm’s length.   

“Well, my approval isn’t really required,” Skye said tartly, backing away from Victor.

He frowned, “You keep doing that.”

“What?”

“Backing up whenever I get close to you,” he pointed out and stepped close to her again.

“Well, most guys would take a hint,” she backed up and hit a wall, “and not invade a lady’s space.”

“Didn’t you hear?” His lips quirked in a saucy grin as he realized she was trapped, “I’m a dictator.” He took another step forward, crowding her against the rough brick wall.  “And what do dictators do, Skye?” He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “We invade.”

“Ughn, um,” Skye’s brain had completely short circuited as his breath and lips brushed her ear—such an erogenous zone.  He was totally playing dirty.  She put her hands on his chest to push him away, to tell him to back off, and then her hands felt the defined muscles of his chest through the snowy white layer of his shirt.  She was going to push him _away_ , she scolded herself…in a minute.

He brushed his lips across her jaw, pulled back to see her face, and saw her dark eyes were dilated with lust, and her body was quivering with need. Victor knew the feeling, his cock was swollen and his senses were cloudy with the smell of her perfume—musky and sweet.  He fixed his gaze on her lips, which were parted as she panted, and leaned down to capture her mouth.

Skye could see him making his move, and she was trying to tell herself to get out of the way, to evade, to… something!  Instead, she felt her eyes sliding shut and braced herself.  He was close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her lips when a shrill beeping interrupted them.  She jumped, startled, and he pulled back, looking around to see if their interlude had been noticed.  It hadn’t—the media was all inside the hospital, where he should be.

Realizing the beeping was coming from her pocket, she snatched her cell phone out and clicked off the alarm.  “Time’s up,” she croaked.  Her voice sounded awfully rusty, she thought to herself, and swallowed.

“What?” Victor asked, clearly confused.

She held the screen of the phone facing him, it read 30:05.  “That’s our thirty minutes for today.”

“You… you _timed_ this?” Victor couldn’t decide if he was infuriated or amused.

“You were the one who laid down the terms, pal,” she managed to brush past him, regaining her sense as the lust drained out of her brain.

“I said we had to spend 30 minutes _together_ ,” he tried to clarify.

“You were here,” Skye gestured around them, “I was here. That’s the very definition of _together_ ,” she mimicked his inflection as she walked away from him.  Jemma was just going to have to visit the hospital herself.

“This isn’t over,” he warned, hands in his pockets as she left.

She didn’t turn her head, “According to your terms, it is until tomorrow.” 


	4. Invasions of Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you’re not clear on the Von Doom canon, there is mention of Boris being the man who raised Victor after his parents died. He was a gypsy, just like Victor, and was there for him even when he became evil VonDoom. He is the Alfred to Von Doom’s Batman, if you will.
> 
> Also, a HUGE thank you to ozhawk and AlekWalker--they have been so helpful as betas and have helped me corral my rabid plot bunnies! *Huggles for the oz and AW* You guys are the BEST! And Ozhawk has added all those lovely pictures of Julian to help our VonDoom imaginations!

[ ](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/distresseddoom_zps8d6c0932.jpg.html)

 

Thus began their little… routine.  At least that’s what Victor liked to call the dance of wits he and Skye seemed to be doing around each other—a routine.  It had taken him all of two days to figure out she was hacking his personal schedule. One of the events she attended was not public knowledge, so she only could have accessed that information from his personal staff (impossible) or his personal schedule (improbable).  Trusting his people, he checked the programming that ran his schedule, and discovered all the hallmarks of a delicate cyber invasion. Rather than try to alter his security protocols, he left them as they were.  If that’s how she wanted to keep tabs on him, he was not going to dissuade her.  Quite to the contrary, now that he knew her method, there was a way to predict, and perhaps adjust for, her appearances. He had discovered her pattern; he just had to figure out how to use it to his advantage.

The little tease would appear like magic in the background of some public appearance or important meeting where Victor would have to split his attention between his soulmate and the other people gathered for the event.  As soon as he recognized her in the crowd, she would hold up her phone, switching on the timer.  Usually, the timer would run out before he could even manage to get close to her. Unwilling, yet, to reveal to his people that he had found his soulmate until their relationship was more defined, Skye had a distinct advantage in public places.  Victor refused to try and publicly expose Skye’s relationship with him to Latveria, instinctively knowing that she would only publicly reject him—it was a humiliating possibility, and he was running out of patience.

It had been over a month since Skye had come into his life, and they hadn’t even had a real conversation yet. He had tried wooing her with the typical trifecta of romance—flowers, candy, and fancy dinners.  She had given the flowers to the house-keeping staff, telling them to keep the fancy blooms as a token of her appreciation for all their hard work.  He had accidentally caused the lights to dim when he had walked into the staff’s lounge and seen the hothouse blooms situated on the main table. His power was tied closely with his temper, but he hadn’t lost control like that in years.  The candy she had dropped off in the pediatric wing of Doomstadt General Hospital. Boris, his head of security and oldest friend, had actually cracked a smile when he reported that tidbit back to Victor, who had vented his anger this time by simply smashing an antique vase that was near at hand. 

Today, he had sent the dinner invitation on his personal stationary: a creamy parchment that screamed money and influence. He had personally chosen the menu as an array of Latverian delicacies to impress her.   He had handwritten the invitation, damnit—he wanted her to see his handwriting and remember the soulmark (his writing) printed on her body.  He found the invitation returned to his desk, laid carelessly on the glossy surface for him to find. Underneath his polite proposal, was one sentence in the spidery scrawl he recognized from his wrist, “I have already met your quota for today.” He felt his rage flare—a formidable emotion he had to keep tightly leashed. The electronics in his wing of the manse began to protest, flickering and sparking from his anger. 

Boris tore into Victor’s room, gun extended, instinctively checking the corners.  The older man’s eyebrows shot to his hairline as he realized the only threat to the president was currently the president.  He spoke quietly into his coms, asking the rest of the security team to stand down. Even on high alert, Boris never seemed fazed—it was probably due to his enormous physique.  The man was built like a bull, huge and solid, nevermind he was fifteen years Victor’s senior.  In his stoic way, he walked over to Victor, taking the invitation carefully out of the president’s hands (it had started smoking faintly at the edges) and examining it.  “Ah,” he nodded sagely, “your ladylove is still resistant to your charms, sir?” The Baltic accent made the question more of a statement, but it really required no answer anyway, so Victor just glared at his confidant while regaining control over his abilities.

When the energy field he manipulated was steady again, Victor ran a hand through his hair, “I honestly do not know what to do.”

“I like her,” Boris said in his direct way.  When Victor turned shocked eyes on the head of security, Boris shrugged his muscular shoulders. “She’s not one of your typical turtledoves, Victor,” Boris sneered at the vapid women Victor usually preferred.  “She,” he said waving the singed invitation in his beefy hand, “will surprise you.”

“That’s your idea of my ideal match?” Victor seethed, “Someone who can surprise me?”

Boris cracked another small smile, which for him was practically a full belly laugh, “You and your control—fate chose her for a reason, Victor. She is good for you.”

Victor knew better than to try and reason with a gypsy when it came to fate.  He put his head in his hands, “She may be good for me, but I really don’t know what to do about her.”

“So impatient,” Boris scoffed.  “Why must you chase her?  She is already coming to you every day, yes?”

“Yes,” Victor replied rubbing his temples.

“So, use your impressive brain. Where do you want her to find you?”

Somehow Boris had a way of making the nearly impossible sound perfectly obvious.  Today, that trait was actually very useful.  Victor pulled up his personal schedule, and made a few adjustments. If he limited his public engagements for a few days, Skye would have no choice but to meet the damned quota with him in private, now wouldn’t she? Victor’s grin turned slightly maniacal as he shuffled appointments, _Two can play at this game, my dear._  

* * *

 

                Skye frowned over her late night cup of cocoa.  _That can’t be right_ , she thought as she tried a few different key stroke combinations, hoping it would change the information in front of her.  It didn’t. How was it possible that the president of a small country had no speeches, government sessions, or any other large scale meetings in public locales for the next two days? He always had some event going on that was large enough for Skye to hide away in the background.  It was the only way she could manage to keep from actually interacting with the Overlord.

                The only things Victor had on his schedule for the next few days were very intimate affairs: a haircut, a suit-fitting, a meeting with minister of finance, a few meet-and-greets with visiting dignitaries, etc—and Skye really didn’t think she had quite the gumption to burst in on a private conference with the President of France. It seemed the rest of his time was composed of paperwork and something he had titled “personal experiments.” Yea, she was officially in trouble.  There was no way she could play wallflower in any of these situations—how was she going to keep the soul bond from forming if she didn’t keep him at arm’s length? 

She already secretly feared she was growing to respect him as a ruler of Latveria.  He did seem to have his country’s best interests at heart, yet the cynical side of her brain whispered that as he improved Latveria’s influence, he also extended his own power.   Jaded as she had become, the part of her resigned to “soulmatedom” with Victor VonDoom also recognized that he was doing the best he could.  She put her head in her hands over the conflict happening inside her brain.  The soul bond was like chemical warfare on her cynicism—corroding it so that she was nearly forced to see and admire the good things VonDoom was accomplishing.

Her libido just added insult to injury by reminding her how good looking Victor VonDoom was every time she saw him—he cut such a figure in his suits.  His sensitive mouth easily smiling and creating fascinating crinkles at the corners of his eyes.  Watching him speak to his people had started to become a lesson in self-restraint.  She would half listen while picturing his expressive hands stroking down her back as his sensitive mouth did naughty things to hers.  Knowing that the only reason they hadn’t climbed into bed yet was her fault did not make it easier.  Indeed, she kept firmly reminding herself, she was _not_ interested. 

Keeping them from completing the soul bond was the most humane way to keep the situation from getting out of control.  He didn’t need a queen, certainly not one who could literally shake up his people’s faith in him. What she needed was a long-term mission that took her out of the country for a while.  Unfortunately, until they learned more about her new abilities, Coulson was keeping her away from the field.

Which brought her back to the issue at hand, how was she going to meet her 30 required minutes with Von Doom without allowing herself to become involved with him?  Then, she got a new idea: another way to change the rules to suit herself without technically breaking his deal.  She noted the time of the first item on his agenda for the next day and went to bed.  If she woke up early, she would have just enough time to get a workout in before she faced the Overlord.

* * *

 

While Victor had been anticipating Skye’s imminent arrival, he hadn’t expected her to stroll into his personal bathroom right after she had been running.  The man cutting his hair, Henri, froze at the unexpected intrusion, glaring a bit at Skye as she casually plucked the earbuds from her ears.

“How’s it going?” She smiled innocently at the flustered hairstylist.

Henri’s eyes were the size of saucers when they met Victor’s in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was windblown despite the ponytail she had tied it in, her cheeks were flushed with effort, and the tank top she sported over her jogging pants was darkened with sweat.  Victor had to choke back a laugh; he thought Skye looked vibrant and healthy, but she was seriously offending Henri’s sense of personal style.

“It’s alright, Henri, she didn’t sneak past security.  This is Skye, and yes, she’s allowed in here,” Victor said calmly, his voice echoing a bit on the tiles. The hairstylist was excellent at his job, but was also a terrible gossip, so Victor never gave the man more information than was strictly necessary.

Skye however, had no such reservations.  In short order, Henri was joking and poking fun at the young woman.  “I could do such things with those locks,” Henri said longingly as she studied Skye’s dark hair.  “Did you ever think about adding streaks of red?  Not the trashy kind, mind you,” he somehow kept track of what he was doing to Victor’s hair while continuing his conversation with Skye, “but a few red streaks here or there to tease and catch the eye—sexy and subtle all at the same time,” he proclaimed with a smile.

Even though Skye politely refused, Victor was struck by how easily she struck up conversations with complete strangers.  It was not lost on him that she must purposefully keep their conversations stilted. 

“Don’t let me tell you how to do your job,” Skye grinned at Henri winningly, “but I’d pay you a hundred euros to give the president a mohawk.”

At the expression of absolute horror on Henri’s face, Victor let out a snort, “I think you’ve just insulted his professionalism.”

Skye chuckled, “Sorry, Henri.”

Victor was about to try to insert himself into the conversation when the damnable beeping he recognized from Skye’s timer sounded.  His eyes flashed to Skye’s in the mirror, “There’s no way that was 30 minutes.”

Skye turned the app off with a swipe of a thumb and met Victor’s accusatory glare with a smile, “You never stated the 30 minutes had to be continuous.”  She showed him the cellphone screen, it read 15:03. When Victor’s jaw dropped at the absolute insolence of her, she turned her smile on the hairstylist, “It was lovely meeting you, Henri.” Without another word, Skye waltzed out of the tiled room. 

Victor was pushing to his feet to follow her and _talk_ to her whether she liked it or not… when he caught his reflection in the mirror.  His hair was lopsided.  He couldn’t go out like that. He looked after Skye’s retreating form, gritted his teeth and slammed back down in the chair. “Hurry it up,” he snapped at Henri, already knowing Skye would be long gone before Henri could finish his hair. 

* * *

 

As it was, Victor didn’t have long to wait.  Her next appearance occurred during his suit fitting just a few hours later.  He caught her reflection in the full length mirror this time inside his bedroom.  His tailor, a stern older woman named Marta was kneeling beside him fussing with the hem of his pants, her lips full of pins. 

“Hello, Skye.  Please, have a seat,” Victor invited politely. Victor watched the uneasy look that came over Skye’s face as she realized the only place to sit in the bedroom was on his bed.  She stared at the four poster, king size monstrosity as though it might trample her if she weren’t careful.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make her uncomfortable, but he did want to see Skye outside her comfort zone.  Whenever he tried to control the situation, she found a way to change the game.  This time, he wanted a small victory.  When she sank onto the mattress, he released a small breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

He didn’t get a chance to enjoy the moment, because Marta smacked him on the back between the shoulder blades, “Don’t slouch,” was her admonition as she circled him, eyeing the fall of the suit. He frowned at Marta, but he couldn’t quite yell at an older woman who didn’t even come up to his shoulder.  She wouldn’t listen to him anyway; Marta had been fitting him for suits for years now and had no fear of him.  As if to prove this thought, she put a hand on one ample hip and cocked her head, “You’re not going to get fat are you?”

Skye burst into irreverent laughter on the bed, flopping backwards onto the comforter when Victor arched one eyebrow at her.

“Stop twisting, you’ll get stuck,” Marta warned as she jammed another pin into the cuffed material at his wrist.

“I’m not going to get fat,” Victor said mildly rolling his eyes at the older woman.

“Ha, that’s what they all say,” Marta waved to encompass all of humanity.  “Then they meet their soulmates and poof,” she snapped her fingers in Skye’s directions, “they gain fifteen pounds and my suits don’t hang right.”

Skye’s giggles stopped as she realized that Marta had guessed the relationship between Victor and Skye.  “How did you know?” She asked straightening up, honestly curious.

Marta helped Victor out of the pin-studded suit jacket and shooed him out of the bedroom to change back into his outfit for the day. “That one,” she nodded in the direction Victor had disappeared, “he doesn’t let anyone see him out of his business attire,” she teased.  When she looked at Skye, her eyes softened, “You are good for him, I think.”

Skye cleared her throat, awkwardly shifting under Marta’s scrutiny, “We aren’t—I mean we are, but—“

Marta cocked her head to one side, “You aren’t soulmates?”

“No, we are—“

“—you don’t like him?”

“—well, I—“

“Young people,” the older tailor scoffed, scooping up pins and gathering her supplies, “Everything is always so complicated.”

“It _is_ complicated,” Skye tried to explain, but Marta cut her off with one hard stare.

“I do not have a soul mark,” Marta stated plainly. “Trying to find _my_ perfect match is complicated. The universe gave you a big hint. I should be so lucky.”

Feeling all the moral superiority of pond scum, Skye fell back on the bed again as Marta left. 

She felt the bed dip as Victor came back into the room and lay back on the other side of the bed.  Their heads were side by side meeting in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling.  “That woman knows how to make an exit,” Skye said ruefully.

Victor snickered, “That she does.” The silence stretched between them while both of them tried to think of something to say.  Eventually, Victor turned his head to look at Skye, “All I want is a chance.”

Skye’s stomach flipped over and she refused to meet Victor’s eyes.

“Skye,” he rolled onto his side, facing her.  He traced one finger down the apple of her cheek, “just a chance.”

She gasped as her heart turned over—he sounded like he needed her.  What was she supposed to do? She was saved from an answer by the timer in her pocket.  The beeping was a life line she grabbed and fled the room without meeting Victor’s eyes.

She left so quickly, she didn’t see the lights go out as Victor’s heart felt like it was being crushed.  Eyes burning, power unstable, Victor slid across the bed until his body occupied the same space her body had.  He could feel the heat energy that remained on the blanket, and he pulled that energy into his own—cradling it inside him. Turning his cheek, he breathed in her scent, giving up the control and letting the world turn for the moment without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That got angsty in a hurry! I swear, I had no control--Von Doom made me do it. He's really a feels monster! Let me know what you think--comments are my life!


	5. Shaky Territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you, the readers--yea, you! THANK YOU for reading. Over 3,000 hits on this story so far and I'm only on Chapter 5! It's all because you guys want to see Von Doom redeemed--and I LOVE you for it! The last fic I did that got this much attention had 15 chapters before it broke 3,000. THANK YOU for coming on this crazy journey with me, even when I haven't added the smut yet (don't worry, it's coming in a few chapters). You humble me with your readership!
> 
> Big thanks to AlekWalker and ozhawk for all their betaing magic, and to ozhawk who gives us all the yummy pictures of Julian!

 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/julian-mcmahon-advocate-magazine-10_zps092d9f77.jpg.html)

 

 _Never let it be said that the president of Latveria couldn’t take a hint,_ Skye thought wryly.  Since their near-connection in Victor’s suite (definitely NOT thinking of it as “in Victor’s bed”—nope, definitely not) the week before, Skye had barely seen him.  She still lived up to her end of their deal and insinuated herself into his work day, but Victor seemed to be keeping his distance.

The day after he had left himself vulnerable, Victor’s schedule had suddenly become packed; his public relations and media showcases quadrupled. As far as opportunities to skirt the Overlord’s attention went, she was positively spoiled for choice.  The only hiccup was that the Overlord didn’t seem to _want_ to pay attention. That was unsettling.

Victor was patently ignoring her.  Sure, he would make eye contact with her as soon as she made her entrance and nod politely to her.  But that was it. He never tried to approach her or speak with her privately.  In fact, the day before Skye had been prepared to stay longer than the requisite thirty minutes in a legislative meeting debating educational reform.  She had really wanted to see if Victor’s proposed changes would be enacted (his ideas for educational reform were rather forward-thinking for a monarch) when he had looked at her with one raised eyebrow and tapped his wristwatch as though to remind her of the time.  The message couldn’t have been clearer: your time is up, do run along.

That he was not only giving her plenty of space, but was (apparently) chasing her off was…uncomfortable.  Skye wouldn’t admit that it hurt to see Victor washing his hands of her.  Not that it was completely unexpected—years in the foster system had taught her that everyone (except maybe her team) gave up on her sooner or later.  Now that Victor was backing out of their soul bond, Skye wasn’t sure what to do or how to feel. 

“Honestly, Skye, what did you expect?” Jemma had admonished her when Skye had escaped to Jemma’s new lab in the basement of the manse.  “The man tried to get close to you and all you did was consistently slap him down.” The petite scientist managed to shrug while still keeping her gaze focused into the microscope in front of her, “I don’t condone his manipulative way of trying to get your attention, but at least you knew where you stood. I mean isn’t this what you wanted—for him to leave you alone?”

Skye was gobsmacked by Jemma’s rant; her words rang through Skye’s head over and over, _isn’t this what you wanted?_

The rest of the team could see her distraction.  Coulson appeared sympathetic, but he eyed her like the time bombs she had witnessed him defuse on more than one hair-raising escapade.  Fitz shrugged at her and patted her awkwardly on the back.  May made her run an extra five miles every day claiming if Skye had less energy left she could focus on what was really important—whatever that meant. The rest of the team didn’t seem to know what to say (even Bobbi) so they just avoided her.

So, all things considered, she really wasn’t at her best when she got the flowers.  A lovely, simple bouquet left in a tasteful vase in her room. The accompanying card had a neat, typed message on it, “Thinking of you. Always.” She would have assumed that the flowers came from Victor, except they were daisies. A bouquet of daisies.

Besides her team, there were only a few people who knew the given name Cal had bestowed on her as an infant.  There was Ward, Cal, and Raina.  The thought of any of them sending flowers here, knowing where she was, and proving that they could get to her whenever they wanted was terrifying.  She broke out in a cold sweat, and her heart started racing, black spots dancing in front of her eyes.  She brought her trembling hands in front of her face, trying to breathe in though it felt like there was a steel band encircling her chest.  That was when she realized her hands weren’t shaking. The manse was.

* * *

 

It had been a really long day.  The legislature was finally ready to start making real changes to Latveria’s educational system which was crucial to the future of the country; they couldn’t keep losing their brightest minds to other countries simply because Latveria didn’t offer a solid educational system.  Of course, that was easier said than done—most professors were hesitant to give up cushy tenured positions to come work in what had been a third world country just ten years ago. Bonuses and grants had to be waved in front of them—both incentives required money that Latveria could afford, but barely.

Wrestling with the budget left Victor with mussed hair as he had repeatedly run his hand through it in irritation.  His jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, his sleeves were rolled up and his eyes were bloodshot from squinting at miniscule print. He pinched the bridge of his nose and considered taking a nap on the couch in his office.  It wouldn’t be the first time—he had been bunking there all week.  It was a better option than lying on the same comforter that still held a hint of Skye’s musky perfume.

Just then, a ridiculously expense knick knack that was a gift from some foreign dignitary or other took a nosedive off the bookshelf and shattered on the floor. Victor frowned, looking around for a reason for the mess when he felt the rumbling from beneath his feet.  The windows rattled in their frames, a few panes breaking as the mansion shook.

 _An earthquake?_ Victor thought, stunned.  While he had never experienced an earthquake before, the shaking of what was solid ground seemed to be a dead giveaway.  However, Latveria was not on a fault line, so this event was not exactly expected.  His security team, headed by Boris, hurried him out of the manse—protectively huddling around him whenever the shaking was particularly severe. Once they got outside the manse, though, things got really weird.  The ground outside wasn’t shaking.  _That makes no sense,_ Victor was turning his head to scan the area, trying to figure out what was going on. 

People were evacuating from the mansion, looking for all the world like ants leaving a nest. Everyone seemed alarmed and confused except for Coulson’s team.  The expressions on their faces ranged from concerned to semi-guilty.  In fact, the SHIELD wing of the manse seemed to be shaking harder than the rest of the house.  How was that possible? What had they done to his manse?

“Coulson,” Victor snapped, striding up to the nondescript man who was instantly flanked by his team. Victor’s security team responded by flanking him and both parties were glaring at each other.  “What is going on here?” Victor demanded.

A lesser man would have fidgeted or flushed under the president’s scrutiny, Coulson appeared to be weighing his words.  He seemed to be deciding whether or not he could trust Victor.  “That’s a complicated question, sir.”

The small scientist sidled up to Coulson, “Sir, with all due respect, don’t you think we ought to tell him?” Coulson glared at her—well it was a mild-mannered stare but she was clearly chastened as she stepped backward.

Victor recognized the woman as Jemma, Skye’s friend, and raised an eyebrow. He then glanced around and his alarm increased exponentially when he couldn’t locate his soulmate. “Where’s Skye?”

Coulson sighed, “Yea, that’s the complicated part.”

* * *

 

Victor was approaching Skye’s room through the SHIELD wing; the shaking was down to an inconsistent tremble every now and then, like aftershocks following a large earthquake.  He and some of Coulson’s team were going in after his soulmate despite his security team’s objections.  Victor knew he was the only person who could hope to contain Skye in this state—if what Coulson told him was true about the extent of her power. 

As he crept closer to her room, he was still reeling that Skye hadn’t volunteered this tidbit of information about herself.  Though, she hadn’t volunteered _anything_ about herself.  Victor didn’t even know her favorite color.  Knowing his line of thinking wasn’t going to help Skye, he called out, “Skye, we’re here.  We’re coming to help you.”

“Stay away!” was the agonized shout from inside the room. The ground shook harder for a second, and Victor heard her harsh breathing all the way into the hallway outside her door.

Victor peered around the doorway and his heart broke at the sight his soulmate made.  She was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, surrounded by broken bits of technology and furniture and…were those flowers?  She had gathered her knees to her chest, clutching them as if she tried to make herself smaller. Her face was tilted to one side, cheek pressed against the knee, as she rocked. 

“That’s not going to happen, sweetheart,” Victor said as soothingly as possible as he slowly stepped into the room. He heard the slight Englishman cursing fluently behind him and shot him one glare to silence him.

“I’ll-I’ll hurt you,” she stuttered, never stopping her rocking.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Victor asked as he picked his way around the detritus.

Skye’s laugh sounded slightly hysterical, “Only sometimes.”

Victor squatted next to her, seeing how hard she was trying to contain whatever it was that she could do, “Well, that sounds like progress to me.” That earned him another uneasy chuckle. Victor smiled, brushed a tendril of her hair behind her ear, “I can help.”

“H-h-how?” She stuttered again.

“You’re not the only one with abilities, my dear.” Her eyes popped wide as she stared at him and he actually had to bite back a chuckle, “Ah, I wondered if there was still footage of my time in New York on YouTube.”

Skye had seen the destruction Dr. Doom had wreaked; she had thought he’d lost that power if he was settling for merely running Latveria. “Are you going to k-kill me?”

“Never,” he shushed her.  He laid a palm on her cheek, staring into her scared brown eyes, “You don’t get away from me that easily.”

“Then what—“

She never finished that question as Victor released a tiny shock of energy at her temple.  Her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped into his arms while the manse stopped shaking around them.  He lifted her into his arms, carrying her close to his heart as he took her back to her team.

The SHIELD unit gathered around Skye’s unconscious body, Jemma immediately running tests, Bobbi relating what had transpired in Skye’s bedroom, and everyone else just trying to lend support where they could.  Victor knew when he wasn’t needed. 

He strode away from SHIELD, knowing without having to look that Boris was in position at his shoulder.  He fished into his pants’ pocket and withdrew his personal cell phone.  He scrolled through the contacts until he found the one person he never thought he’d willingly reach out to again and tapped the icon.

She picked up on the second ring, “Victor?”

“Susan, I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, the Susan he's calling is the Susan you're really hoping he's calling! *Cackles*


	6. Three Strikes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter will explain why Victor Von Doom has been such a tool in the past, especially with Skye. Prepare for angst, but I solemnly swear to fluff the next chapter! As always, love it/hate it please comment. Letting me know what you see is always a huge thrill. Thanks for reading!

 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/sad_zpsb0a85c66.jpg.html)

Skye really wanted to resist coming back to consciousness.  She had what Jemma had termed from the early stages a “Quake Hangover.”  While she could deliberately control the vibrations, whenever she had an episode (i.e. she got completely out of control) her body had a latent reaction.  Jemma thought that Skye’s attempts to control the episodes caused her to tense up so much that her body actually had to repair itself each time.  Which was a fancy way of saying absolutely everything hurt.  Her head hurt, her joints hurt, her muscles hurt.  Her friggin’ hair hurt.

                Skye kept her eyes closed while listening to the annoying beep of the heart monitor—being awake usually meant she was going to get poked with needles and she was in enough pain at the moment.  She tried to recall what had triggered the incident.  She didn’t fear triggering it again; her body literally couldn’t do it again this soon, so everyone was relatively safe at the moment. The last thing she remembered was the creepy-stalker-flowers.  She rarely recalled the actual experiences, which always annoyed her, and this instance was just another huge blank in her memory.

                “You’re not fooling anyone, Skye, so you might as well open your eyes and submit to examination,” Jemma’s crisp English tones clearly expressed a no-nonsense attitude.  That was never a good sign.  Jemma _really_ liked wielding needles, and she knew how much Skye loathed them.

                Skye cracked open an eyelid, “Show me your hands,” she croaked.

                Jemma scoffed, “Oh, don’t be such a baby; you already have an IV started.”

                Skye shuddered, deliberately keeping her vision off her arms and holding them _very_ still—just in case. “Um, Jemma,” Skye swallowed, “did I hurt anyone?” She wanted to know before anyone else came in the room.  She needed to brace herself for the fear and confusion her episodes caused. 

                Jemma opened her mouth to reply, but the answer came from the doorway, “Not this time, but next time you might not be so lucky.  That’s why I’m here.”

                _Holy cow, it’s Doctor Barbie,_ was the first thought that floated across Skye’s brain.  Skye wasn’t one to objectify women, but this woman was absolutely stunning.  Her blonde hair was clipped back off her heart-shaped face, revealing cornflower blue eyes.  She was tall and generously curved, though her figure ran more toward willowy than bombshell.  Noting the lab coat the woman wore, Skye had to assume the woman was also brilliant.  Skye couldn’t decide whether she should hate the new woman, or want to be her—it was a toss up.

                “I’m Dr. Susan Storm-Richards, but you can call me Sue,” she smiled a perfect (of course) smile and held out her hand.

                Skye shook her hand, and then her mind caught up with her and she blurted, “You’re the Invisible Woman!” Skye was kicking herself for a lack of tact, even as Jemma was trying to conceal her hilarity (she still snorted, the traitor). “I’m sorry,” Skye said quickly, “it’s just you’re about the last person I expected to see in Latveria.”

                Susan’s smile was still kind, but there was an edge to it, “Honestly, I never expected to be invited here.”

                “Invited?” Skye asked.

                “President Von Doom called Dr. Richards and Dr. Storm Richards after he rescued you,” Jemma explained quietly. 

                “Victor rescued me?” Skye looked up and flushed.  Her heart had skipped a beat, and because she was still on the monitor, it was apparent to everyone in the room.  “Can you turn that thing off?” Skye begged.

                Still chuckling, Sue pushed a button and the machine went silent. “Victor called me and asked for my, and my husband’s, help.  I’m a geneticist who specializes in altered DNA. He felt I was… uniquely qualified to observe your case.”

                Skye gulped, “Did my team fill you in?”

                “In everything they could,” Sue answered kindly, “but ultimately, you’re the only one who was in that room in Puerto Rico.  I need you to describe it to me.  Anything you can remember might help me piece together what exactly affected your DNA so completely.”

                “What do you mean?” Skye asked.

                Sue looked at her with regret, “I was told you knew your DNA is not completely human?”

                Skye nodded.

                “Well, it seems as if the non-human part of your DNA becomes active during times of stress,” Sue explained.  “I’ve seen this happen a few times.”

                “With your own DNA, correct?” Jemma asked excitedly.  She was in full science-geek-out-mode.

                “Yes, and Reed’s, my brother Johnny’s, my friend Ben’s, and… Victor,” she hesitated and made eye-contact with Skye.  “There are several other cases as well, Dr. Banner, for instance.”

                “Please don’t tell me I’m going to turn into a giant, green, rage monster!” Skye blurted before she could think.

                Sue let out a peal of laughter, “Oh no, I don’t think so.  I was just giving you notable examples of DNA that alters when exposed to unknown … let’s call them energies. I want to assure you, while I am concerned with your situation, I’m confident Reed and I can find a way to help.”

                Skye leaned back against the cushions, “That might be the best news I’ve had in months.”

                “Aside from finding your soulmate, of course,” Sue suggested.  Her gaze never left the file she was paging through, but Skye could practically feel the doctor’s peripheral vision studying her.

                “Uh, of course,” Skye answered as nonchalantly as possible.

                The next week was a blur of tests conducted by the Richards and visits from her teammates.  Coulson was trying to track down who had sent the bouquet of daisies, but so far the credit card information provided to the Doomstadt flower shop appeared to have been faked. The rest of the team tried to distract her, but the two teammates in absolute paroxysms of euphoria were FitzSimmons.  Skye hadn’t seen the pair so happy in months.  Jemma followed Sue everywhere she went, adding her expertise in biochemistry whenever possible. Fitz had a serious case of hero-worship going on for Reed Richards.  Although he was not as directly involved with Skye’s physical body or DNA, he and Fitz were attempting to create a chamber strong enough to handle her quake symptoms. 

                “It won’t be pretty,” Reed had explained in his blunt way, “but it might be your best chance to contain your abilities when you lose control.”

                “Cage the rage,” Skye had quipped, but she secretly hoped they would find a way for her to avoid using the cage—she really didn’t like the idea of being confined.

                In the whole time that the Richards were attempting to help her, the one person she didn’t see was Victor.  It didn’t make any sense.  He had made peace with his arch nemeses for her sake, but he couldn’t stop in to see her?  Not that she missed him.  She didn’t. She merely wanted to keep up her end of the bargain—that was all. And she should probably thank him… if she ever saw him again.

* * *

 

                “Victor Von Doom you might be the biggest moron I’ve seen in a long time.”

                “Why hello to you too, Reed,” Victor’s voice dripped sarcasm.  He was standing at his window in his office, overlooking a garden, and trying not to picture Skye in her hospital bed.

                “What are you doing here?” Reed asked, entering office without permission.

                “I’m running a damn country, what does it look like I’m doing?” Victor snapped at him. 

                “Like you’re avoiding the girl you brought Sue and I here to help.” What Reed lacked in subtlety, he made up for in rudeness. “It’s been a week, don’t you think you should probably stop by and say hello to your soulmate?”

                “It’s none of your business,” Victor nearly snarled, whipping around to face Reed. “I asked you to help her, not meddle in my love life,” the lights flared in the room—a reminder of Von Doom’s considerable power.

                With the history between Reed Richards and Victor Von Doom, most would assume the two would come to blows at that point.  Sue, invisibly observing from the doorway, however, knew better. Even when battling each other using their supernatural abilities, there had always been a modicum of respect between the two. They were, and always would be, rivals on opposing sides of most issues.  But, they often saw in each other a foil—a balancing agent that nullified their own weaknesses.  On the rare instance they managed to work together, they were combative and abrasive, but they created spectacular results.

                So it didn’t surprise Sue at all when Reed stretched one arm across the room to Victor’s bar and snagged two drinks, handing one off to Victor without moving from his stance in the middle of the room.  That was Reed’s not-so-subtle reminder of his own power. Reed only lifted one eyebrow at Victor.

                Victor sighed heavily and knocked back the vodka, “This isn’t a math problem you can solve, Richards.”

                Reed just lifted his eyebrow again and sipped at his own drink.

                Deciding to leave before she died of testosterone poisoning, Sue left the two to bond in the strange frenemy way they had. She made her way to the SHIELD wing, deciding she should do her own investigation.

* * *

 

                Skye was sulking.  She was alone in the SHIELD wing because everyone else had gone on an especially dangerous (i.e. interesting _and_ exciting) investigation of a possible HYDRA base located in Romania. Coulson had firmly grounded her until she could refrain from “shaking things up.” Normally Phil’s bad puns were among his more adorable qualities, but Skye had met his attempt at humor with a withering glare. The fact that she knew he was right in keeping her benched until she got a handle on herself just added insult to injury as far as she was concerned.

                “Oh good, someone else _is_ here,” Sue walked into the common room with a few dusty bottles of wine. “I’ve been trying to find someone to share these with—Victor has impeccable taste in wine, and I’m going to indulge while I’m here.”

                Skye gave her a half smile, “I’m not sure I’m very good company right now, Doc.”

                “Nonsense,” Sue contradicted as she rooted in the nearby bar for wine glasses and a corkscrew, “I want to get tipsy and share girl talk—I don’t get much of that as the only girl in the tower back home.”

                Skye smiled fully, “Oh really? Do you want to braid my hair too?”

                “No, but I’d love it if we could paint our toenails—mine look terrible under these exceptionally practical shoes,” Susan’s sarcasm was delightful.  It was common knowledge the blonde doctor had a big weakness for brand name footwear.

                Skye grinned, “I think Jemma has some Iron Man Red in her sock drawer!”

                Two bottles of wine and three coats of toenail polish later, Sue and Skye were languishing on opposite sides of the couch, feet in the air and heads meeting in the center.

                “Tell me how you and Victor met,” Sue only slightly slurred her words.

                Skye shrugged, “I thought he was a lackey working for the dictator of Latveria and insulted him.”

                Sue hooted with laughter, “Oh that’s _perfect_!” She hiccupped, “You’re exactly the kind of the girl Victor needs in his life—someone to keep him grounded.”

                Skye shifted uncomfortably, “I don’t know about that.”

                Sue tilted her head at a very impressive angle for someone who had drunk an entire bottle of wine, “Whaddya mean?”

                “I don’t think Victor needs me—needs anyone—in his life.”

                “Cause he didn’t come to visit you in the hospital?” Sue asked quietly.

                Skye shrugged and hastily wiped the moisture from her eyes.  The stupid wine was making her mushy.

                “I know it probably doesn’t seem like it,” Sue continued, “but I’ve never seen Victor so concerned about anyone before.  Did you know he proposed to me?”

                Skye nearly fell off the couch in shock, “What?!  Oh great,” she buried her face in her hands, “there’s no way I measure up to _you_.”

                “Ha! I guarantee Victor doesn't think that way. In fact, he broke it off with me,” Sue replied, “when he found out I was still in love with Reed, my idiot of a soulmate. I’m afraid Victor is terribly jealous.  Oh,” Sue spun around to look Skye in the face, “and he’s very insecure about women—did you know that?”

                Skye stared at the slightly-more-than-tipsy Sue, “Are we talking about the same Victor Von Doom?”

                Sue smiled sadly, “You forget I’ve known him for a long time.  We went to college together. We were friends,” her eyes got a little unfocused as she thought about the past. “He’d probably kill me for telling you this, but he has a really hard time trusting women, and it’s for a good reason.”

                “I’m not sure—“

                “If you don’t have the right to know, then who does?” She demanded, deadly serious.  Skye realized that even impaired by alcohol, Susan Storm-Richards was one of the most intimidating women Skye would ever encounter. “Did he ever tell you about his mother?” Sue continued when Skye shook her head, “I didn’t think so.  She was a gypsy witch who craved more power.  She made a deal with a demon, and he locked her away in a hell dimension when Victor was just a boy.  He still had nightmares about it when we were in college; he was tormented by the thought that somehow he and his father just weren’t enough for his mother, that he could never be enough for a woman.” A tear traced down Sue’s face, “Poor Victor.”

                “So wait,” Skye sat up, “His mother left him and he felt unloved,” she ticked this point off on one finger.  On the next finger, she ticked, “You left him when he knew you loved someone else” and Sue nodded.  Skye held up a third finger, “And the one person who was always supposed to love him more than anyone else, his soulmate, keeps rejecting him.” Skye shuddered, wiping suddenly damp hands on her jeans, “Three strikes… God, no wonder he doesn’t want to see me.”

                “It’s not too late,” Sue said kindly. The older woman got up to leave, collecting the empty wine bottles, thanking Skye for the girl time. “And Skye,” Sue looked her dead in the eyes before leaving the room, “be careful.”

                Whether Sue meant for Skye to be careful of Victor, his feelings, or of her own heart was unclear.   


	7. Not Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. All I'll say is that real life issues are really hard to deal with sometimes. The good news is, I wrote an extra long chapter as an apology! 
> 
> Also, I know I promised fluff... but Von Doom got smutty on me... I had no control over him or Skye's reactions to him...
> 
> Possible trigger warning: small mention of dom/sub stuff, though it isn't acted upon. If that's not your thing, I'll understand if you bow out!
> 
> As always, your comments keep me writing--thanks for all your kind words during my hiatus. You kept me sane.

 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/shirtless%202_zpsbulplbni.jpg.html)

If there was one thing that Skye had learned from SHIELD in the past few years, it was that you didn’t go into any mission without being prepared.  Granted, apologizing to one’s soulmate was not exactly what SHIELD generally taught at the academy, but then her SHIELD education hadn’t exactly been the standard indoctrination anyway.  While living in her van—God that seemed like a lifetime ago—she had always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of girl.  If something caught her attention, she pursued it, but rarely did she go in with any sort of plan in mind.  She still blushed when she remembered her near fangirl moment when confronting Mike Peterson before he became Deathlok; it was amazing that he had listened to her at all.

                What she needed was intel on her intended target, a private place to engage said target, and possibly an extraction plan if the mission went awry.  Considering her usual luck, Skye was betting it would go awry, so an extraction plan was wise.

                So, first on her to-do list was to gather intel on Victor Von Doom.  She had done the requisite Google search on him after she’d found out they were soulmates.  However, aside from the distressing evidence of his fights with the Fantastic Four and his ascension to the Latverian throne, there really wasn’t anything about her soulmate on the web.  Her next step had been hacking his private databases, of course, but those were even less enlightening.  His accounts were squeaky clean, none of his ancestral properties appeared the least bit covert, and his activities seemed to be limited to improving Latveria.  No, she was going to need a new source of information. 

                Skye expected she was going to have to dig deep; she was prepared to put pressure on the human element in the manse in order to get the answers she needed.  With her team still away on assignment, she wasn’t sure what would happen if the household staff rejected her curiosity. Shockingly, Victor’s staff was overwhelmingly eager to provide her with information.  Her face flamed more than once at the hopeful glee that lit up the faces of the maids. Apparently, the staff knew the status of Skye’s relationship (if she could call it that) with the Overlord and all were quite enthusiastic to see them together.  Even stoic Boris had knocked on her bedroom door with a basket of cookies that looked a little like gingersnaps that had been shattered and dusted with powdered sugar.  The gruff bear of a man shoved the basket into her hands, “They’re his favorites,” he grunted before turning six shades of crimson and beating a hasty retreat before Skye recovered enough from her shock to thank him.

                The staff suggested several opportunities when Skye might find him alone to talk.  Apparently, he liked to workout in the very early morning—that had possibilities.  He also spent several evenings a week working on his “personal experiments”—those had always piqued her interest when she saw them on his personal schedule.  He also had some personal time built into his schedule throughout the day, though it never appeared on his formal schedule.  During those times it was almost guaranteed she’d find him alone, at least that’s what the staff assured her.

                As for the extraction plan, well she hadn’t exactly worked that part out yet.  She wanted to thank him for everything he had done and get the hell out.  She wasn’t the clingy girlfriend type.  She wasn’t even sure she wanted to take things with Victor into that realm of possibility.  She just wanted him to know she wasn’t going to outright reject him again like everyone else in his life.  She knew what that felt like and couldn’t willingly inflict it on another human being, especially her soulmate.

                All that planning brought her face-to-face with the door outside Victor’s personal suite holding the basket of maybe-gingersnaps, and it was there that her anxiety was getting the best of her.  Damnit, she was a SHIELD agent.  She had gone rounds with several of the most daunting people on the planet—she _refused_ to lose her nerve. Firmly telling herself to woman-up and deal, Skye opened the door to find the suite deserted.  Looking around, she was confused.  This was the time slot he had allotted for his personal experiments that the staff said took place in his suite.  Where the _hell_ was he when she wanted to apologize?

                Just as she was about to leave, calling herself every kind of fool, the lights flickered. That seemed… odd.  They flickered again and Skye just barely heard what sounded like a grunt of effort. She looked around again, straining her ears for another sound… There it was! Another grunt and a sound like a muffled concussive force and then the lights wavered again. Skye was no fool, she realized suddenly what the “personal experiments” must be—Victor was playing with his ability to manipulate energy. 

                Though she had seen the fuzzy video footage of his escapades in New York, Skye had a burning desire to see that power up close and personal.  She told herself that it was merely professional curiosity that had her so anxious, it had nothing to do with seeing the real power he kept leashed all the time. Nope. Not part of the equation. Really.

                It sounded like the commotion was coming from behind the bookcase in his office.  Skye wondered for a minute and grinned.  Apparently Victor was into the cliché villain tricks and kept all the super-secret stuff hidden from plain sight—this bookcase had to be the entrance to a secret tunnel. 

 _Oh man, Coulson would love this!_ Skye nearly giggled as she explored the front of the case, looking for the locking mechanism. Granted, she could have scanned the area with one gizmo or another to get the answer, but what was the fun in that? She combed through the books, trying to decide what would work—it needed to be a decent-sized book because it would have to control the larger force of the bookshelf.  She came across a few possibilities and discounted them almost immediately: _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ (too pretentious), _The Bible_ (with Victor’s god-complex, no way), she even found a tattered copy of _Utopia_ (she had to concede that Victor was genuinely a great leader, but Latveria wasn’t quite utopia—yet). Then she stumbled across a copy of _The Prince_. Knowing it was all about gaining and keeping political power, Skye figured it was the perfect choice.  She pulled the book out, and much to her surprise, nothing happened. Skye sighed; she should have known he wouldn’t make it that easy.

                She would have missed the right book if the lights hadn’t dimmed. She pulled several other contenders out without success and was nearly ready to grab a gizmo to scan the bookshelf (cheating be damned) when her hand grazed an old copy of _The Prince and The Pauper_ and the room seemed suddenly darker.  Her heart jumped to her throat.  Of course, this would be the right choice.  It was a hat tip to his less-than-lovely childhood.  A sign that deep down Victor never forgot his humble origins and he believed it made him a better leader.  He wasn’t embarrassed by his childhood, he embraced his past… and he missed his parents.  Skye had to take a few deep breaths before she did something truly embarrassing like cry serious snot-tears in Victor’s office.  Steadying herself, she pulled out the book, and wasn’t at all surprised when a section of the bookshelf swung out revealing a secret passageway.

                The cut stone of the passageway gave the hidden tunnel an appropriately creepy ambiance.  “Put ze candle beck,” she muttered to herself in her terrible _Young Frankenstein_ impression.  At the end of the tunnel, Skye stepped suddenly into a very modern-looking room with one wall almost completely made up of glass.  Skye would bet her wifi connection that the glass was bullet-proof or stronger.  This was an observation deck set above the laboratory area below. And what a sight Victor VonDoom made for the observer.

                He stood at one end of the large space, a state-of-the-art lab area was set off to the side (Jemma and Fitz would love to play in that sandbox), but directly opposite Victor was a dummy that had been fully clothed.  Pieces of clothing smoldered at the dummy’s feet. Skye noticed Victor had electrodes and other monitoring devices wirelessly attached to different parts of his body—his half naked body. It appeared his shirt had been discarded because Victor was overheated; his sweat slicked torso shone beneath the florescent lighting as though he had been oiled. As she watched, Victor gave another grunt, and a whip-thin length of lightening (at least that’s what it looked like to Skye) flashed out from his outstretched hand and sliced off another piece of clothing from the dummy without so much a scorching the dummy underneath.

                Skye was absolutely stunned as she watched Victor use his power with the skill and efficiency of a surgeon wielding a scalpel.  He had such _control_ over his abilities.  He kept that ability leashed at all times… Skye was practically drooling on the observation glass wondering what it would take to get the buttoned up Von Doom to lose that wicked control.  She wondered if he maybe had some control issues he could play out in the bedroom…. _And where exactly had that dirty kink been hiding?_ Skye wondered as she felt heat flush her from head to toes.  She had never considered herself submissive, but the idea of Victor using his ability to slice the clothing off her body… using that tight control to force her to be absolutely still and at his mercy…. The idea had her shuddering, leaning a hand on the glass as she tried to reign in her lady parts.

                Skye wasn’t sure if she made a sound or if Victor suddenly sensed he was being observed, but he looked up at locked eyes with her.  At the intense stare, Skye felt herself melting a little more, not sure how to proceed. Suddenly, the glass between them trembled.  Victor’s eyes narrowed on her hand, obviously the cause of the shaking glass.  Skye pulled her hand off the glass, cradling it against her chest and breaking eye contact by dropping her head to breathe deeply and get herself under control.  What was the matter with her?  She needed a clear head if she was going to apologize and get out with any amount of dignity intact.

                After mentally scolding herself, she lifted her head to discover that only the partially stripped dummy was looking back at her.  Victor was gone. Thoroughly shocked that he had run out on her—especially when he had clearly had the upper hand—Skye let herself into the lab and glanced around trying to find his exit. Finding another door that had been left slightly ajar, Skye adjusted the basket of cookies on her arm and barged in before she could lose her nerve. The Overlord was going to listen to her apology if she had to cram it down his throat with his maybe-gingersnap cookies.

                “Victor, I think we need to--“ Whatever Skye was going to say was lost in a shriek as she encountered a very naked Victor and quickly spun around to avoid the sight (even though she had already seen it). He was all lean muscle that exuded a clear and deadly strength.  Victor’s broad shoulders tapered to his waist, and Skye was fairly certain his stomach could double as a washboard in case of a laundry emergency. Granted, the Latverian royal jewels were covered by a strategically draped towel, but Victor was undoubtedly very naked in a small bathroom that adjoined his lab. 

                “If you don’t like the view,” Victor drawled, “you probably shouldn’t just barge in wherever and whenever you please.”

                “I’m sorry,” Skye squeaked.  Audibly clearing her throat, she tried again, “I—uh—I wanted to talk to you.”

                “Clearly,” his reply was drier than dust.

                “Look,” Skye started to spin around, but remembered his general state of undress and turned back toward the door. “I’ll just talk to you later.”

                “You wanted to talk, so talk,” Victor said nonchalantly. 

Figuring the cookies might help sweeten his mood, she waved the basket behind her without turning around. “I brought you cookies.”

The basket was plucked out of her hands and Victor made a little humming noise in his throat that did nothing to calm Skye’s hormones. “I usually don’t get these until around Christmas,” he said quietly.

“Well, I wanted to thank you for bringing in the Richards to help me when… well…”

“When were you planning on telling me that you’re gifted?” Victor’s clipped tone had Skye’s shoulders hunching.

“It’s not exactly something I like to advertise—“

Her words stopped as the bathroom’s light fixtures dimmed. Damn his bare feet because she didn’t hear him walk up behind her, but she did feel it.  Static electricity raised the hair on her arms and prickled the hair on her scalp—she felt curiously alive and hyper aware in her skin. “Advertise?” He murmured in her ear—practically growled it.  Skye’s knees nearly gave way and she had to put her hands on the door to hold herself up. “You knew what and who I was from the very beginning.  I opened up my whole life to you,” he somehow managed to snarl in the most seductive voice she had ever heard. “And you couldn’t bother to tell me that you’ve recently had an accident that transformed your DNA.  Don’t you think that’s something I might have a bit of experience with?”

“Uh,” Skye was trying very hard to think. 

“Wait, what’s this?” Victor reached past Skye’s head, and despite the hurt in his voice, Victor’s touch on her arms was gentle.  He pushed up the sleeves of her shirt, exposing the bruising left over from her quake hangover.

Skye turned around in Victor’s arms allowing him to examine her injuries fully, “It usually only happens when I completely lose control.  Trying to stop the quakes sometimes… turns on me.”

Victor’s blue eyes blazed into her own, “Didn’t it ever occur to you that control is something I could help you with?  Skye, we could have been working on this for weeks—instead you kept running away from me.”

“I know—I’m sorry,” Skye looked up at Victor, her dark brown eyes pleading with his, “I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of having a soulmate.  I mean, I rebelled for a living; I’ve never liked being told what to do.  Knowing that the universe supposedly knew what was best for me? I mean—no way,” she shook her head.

“And then I tried to force the issue,” Victor’s voice was filled with self-reproach.

“I think I understand why you did,” Skye put a hand on his chest—and tried not to be distracted by his muscles—cause _muscles_. “Sue and I had a very long talk.”

Victor jerked back a bit abruptly and Skye missed the electrifying feeling of his skin, “What did she say?”

“Nothing I couldn’t have figured out if I had hacked far enough back into your past,” Skye said remaining purposefully vague.  She knew there were some aspects of his past that Victor would want to reveal in his own time, and she wanted to give him that chance. “But I can see now why your dating history would leave you a bit wary of women.”

Victor stood at the opposite end of the bathroom, leaning one shoulder against the shower door, “So, you’re a commitment phobic, antiestablishment hacker with the ability to level my manse if I piss you off.”

“And you’re a controlling dictator with abandonment issues who can use energy to either knock me out or fry my clothing off if _I_ piss _you_ off,” Skye countered.

“Well every relationship has problems,” Victor’s lips quirked in a sardonic grin.

Skye couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her, “So… friends?” She offered her hand to him to shake.

Victor pushed off the wall and took her hand.  He seemed to study her for a moment before saying, “No,” very calmly, using her hand to pull her off balance so that she stumbled against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

“N-n-no?” She stammered, confused.

“No, Skye, I don’t want to be your friend.” He angled his face and his eyes dropped to her mouth.  Skye unconsciously licked her lips as she felt his warm breath against her skin.  He dipped his head down until he was a bare millimeter from her mouth, and there he stopped.  Their breaths mingled as Victor waited to see if Skye would close the distance between them.  He was giving her the choice. The control.

On a moan, Skye threw her arms around him and pulled his mouth to hers.  Electricity zinged lightly across her skin as Victor gathered her closer.  He tongue dipped into her mouth, exploring and claiming her.  Skye groaned as his hand fisted in her hair gently tugging her head back to give him greater access, the quick pain adding sharpness to the pleasure.  Victor backed her up against the door without breaking the kiss and grabbed one of her legs, wrapping it around his waist.  The towel had been left behind somewhere between the shower and the door and Skye could clearly feel Victor’s arousal pressing against her through her jeans. 

It was Skye’s distinct whimper that made Victor lift his head and deliberately put space between himself and Skye. He put both of his hands on the wall and breathed heavily for a few moments while Skye got her legs back under her and stared up at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Victor said distinctly, “but I also don’t want to finish what we’re starting here until you’re ready to define the relationship.

Skye found herself feeling dumb and intensely aroused; now she knew why men had trouble concentrating when all their blood rushed south.  She could practically feel the soulbond urging her to wrap her legs around Victor and let him take her against the door… or the sink... or… she really needed to get out of the bathroom. “Okay,” she whispered. She pushed away from the door, she and Victor eyeing each other like a combustible chemical with a large red hazard sign on it. She opened the door and was about to step out when Victor’s voice stopped her.

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry?” She asked, still feeling fuzzy-headed and his flagrant nudity was not helping.

“I’ll find time in my schedule tomorrow to work with you—with you powers.  That will give us a chance to … get to know each other.” With that he turned and gave her an all-too-enticing view of his sculpted ass as he stalked into the shower and turned it on very cold.


	8. Resistance is Futile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here’s the fluff I planned on providing last chapter (but Von Doom made me turn last chapter smutty). *Spoiler Alert for Season 2 of Agents of SHIELD* In my AU, Bobbi and Mack aren’t traitors—at least not yet. It’s hard enough to imagine SHIELD taking asylum in Von Doom’s territory without adding the whole “other” SHIELD in the mix. So, Bobbi and Hunter are soul mates, but they fight like cats and dogs. Also, I know that Victor is cribbing from Gordon’s lines on AOS, but—again—I think there’s enough credulity-stretching in this AU without bringing in Afterlife!

Melinda May could count the times she had been truly surprised on one hand.  One: when she found out her mother really worked for the government and had been secretly training her daughter to become an operative.  Two: when her ex-husband proposed marriage on what she had thought was just a lovely weekend getaway. Three: when SHIELD had turned out to be HYDRA in disguise.  And now she had a Four: being cordially invited to the annual Latverian National Gala as a guest-of-freaking-honor.

                “I’m not wearing a dress,” May stated baldly, her back against a wall in Coulson’s office.

                Phil glanced sidelong at his second-in-command, not even bothering to hide his smirk, “Me either.” May’s bland stare didn’t even phase Phil as he grinned, “Oh, come on, you’ve worn plenty of dresses on ops before this—we have a whole cabinet of suitable gowns in your size… somewhere.”

                “ _This_ ,” May’s spare gesture somehow managed to encompass the gala invitation that had been hand delivered that morning, the manse, all of Latveria, and the tension the team felt as Skye was trying to negotiate her relationship with Victor, “is _not_ an op.”

Phil had always envied May’s economy of words and motion, “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

“Are we sure this is our best move?”

Phil tried to hide his disquiet by fussing with the mini-Lola model that Mack had made for him (shame it didn’t fly), “I’m honestly not sure.  But, you have to admit, as a statement this party has class.”

“Class?!” May spat out the word as she pushed off the wall and stood directly in Coulson’s line of sight, “Victor Von Doom wants to use this _party_ as a way to publicly welcome SHIELD as newly naturalized citizens of Latveria and you’re worried about the sophistication of the event?!”

If any other agent had snapped at him the way Melinda just did, Phil would have mercilessly cut them down. But May and Phil had worked together long enough for Coulson to see the real worry behind his friend’s eyes.  “I know in the past SHIELD hadn’t made its home base public knowledge, but we’re working at minimum capacity right now because no one will trust us.  Von Doom making us citizens of Latveria gives us a very public, a very clear, home base.  It’s to our advantage to be publicly acknowledged, Melinda.”

“It makes it look like we’re Von Doom’s hired thugs,” she scowled.

Phil shook his head, “On the contrary, it makes us look like we’re working with Von Doom. Remember the man was a supervillain with fearsome powers in his own right.  His reputation alone has kept larger countries from taking over Latveria for over a decade.”

“So he has little to lose by adopting us.”

“Oh no,” Phil said in a tone no less dangerous because it was quiet, “no, he had _everything_ to lose now.  And that’s exactly what makes our teaming up with him so very dangerous for everyone else.”

May cocked her head to one side, “You think he’s doing this for Skye.  That’s why he’s making this public statement?”

“For Skye, for Latveria,” Phil confirmed, crossing his arms and settling one hip on his desk, “both mean ‘home’ to him.  This celebration highlights his ties to SHIELD … and to her.” His eyes met May’s with a steely glint, “Melinda this gala will send a message to the world—to Ward, to Cal, even to Reina—come after Latveria, SHIELD, or Skye…. And it will spell your doom.”

Melinda maintained eye contact with Phil for almost thirty seconds before her eyes crinkled and one corner of her mouth quirked, “Seriously? You just couldn’t resist.”

Coulson’s cheeks flushed, “I thought it appropriate under the circumstances.”

“Oh sure, puns always add a certain seriousness to any conversation.”

“You’re fired.”

May scoffed, strutting out of the room, “And who would go with you to the party if you fire me?”

“I bet I could get someone who would wear a dress,” Phil groused, picking up mini-Lola again. “Probably.”

* * *

 

“So, does this mean we aren’t citizens of our home countries anymore?” Jemma wondered as she pulled back from her microscope.

“I think it’s a duel-citizenship deal,” Bobbi answered, pacing through the area holding the creamy paper of the invitation between her hands. “We still have our citizenship to the US—or to UK for you, Fitz, and Hunter,” Bobbi mused, “but we also have full citizenship here in Latveria—with all the benefits. It’s actually very clever if you think about it,” Bobbi went on. “SHIELD and Von Doom are on the same side now—so no one will want to mess with us.  It gives us and Von Doom a stronger position in the new world order.”

“Well, that’s awfully convenient for us,” drawled Hunter from where he was sprawled in the corner, “but what’s the catch?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Mack commented as he and Fitz used a heads up display to tweak a new design for the icer guns.

“Not sure it’s ours,” Fitz mumbled as he enlarged the part of the gun he was staring at.

“Come again, Fitz?” Jemma asked.

He blinked, and looked at Jemma before his eyes skated to the side the way they did when he was trying to say something correctly. “The catch—not ours,” he struggled.  His bad left hand gestured vaguely, “Sk—Skye’s.”

Mack raised one dark eye brow, “You think the catch is Skye’s problem?”

Jemma made a soft gasp, “You think we’ll have Von Doom’s endorsement as long as he and Skye are together? That’s terrible.”

Hunter snorted, “It would hardly be the first time a soul mate has tried to manipulate a situation to suit him… or her,” he eyed Bobbi sidelong, who looked away from him with studied indifference.

They were all quiet for a moment when Mack shifted his weight and bumped his shoulder into Fitz’s, “Know how to waltz, Turbo?”

Fitz flushed red, but he nodded without meeting Mack’s eyes.

“Basic ballroom dancing is a required course at the SHIELD Academy,” Jemma said primly, “even if you’re not on track to be a field agent.”

Bobbi grinned, “God, I hated that class.”

“Me too,” Fitz said under his breath.

Jemma looked up at Mack’s expression, “What’s wrong?”

“Uh… well, I don’t know how to dance,” he grinned ruefully.

“Tall dark and handsome can’t dance?” Lance hooted, “Now this I have to see.”

* * *

 

                A bead of sweat was running down the small of Skye’s back and the t-shirt she was wearing was getting uncomfortably warm.  If she were training on her own, she would have long since stripped down to the tank top she was wearing underneath.  However, Victor was with her in the containment room that Fitz and Dr. Richards built for her.  He was equally sweaty, and Skye was trying to concentrate on using her powers, not jumping her soul mate’s bones.  Clothes were necessary. More clothes would be better.

                Victor was panting slightly as he handled the lightening whip with scary-precision. “Remember, energy is everywhere.  My ability to manipulate that energy manifests as electricity,” he whirled the whip slowly around demonstrating his control.  It moved around her body as if it had to struggle through molasses, fluid and slow, but close enough to raise all the hair on her body.  Skye felt her nipples tighten at the sensation. “Energy is what makes everything vibrate—you can control that vibration.”

                Skye took a deep breath; she had heard this refrain over and over in their practice sessions. It had become a mantra and was soothing (rather than annoying) in the repetition. 

                Victor allowed the whip to disappear, but moved up behind Skye and pointed over her shoulder at the block of granite in front of her. “Focus on the stone.  Feel its vibrations.” The tiny vibrations that came from Victor’s body were tinged with that current of electricity and were deliciously distracting. 

                “I feel it,” Skye murmured.  She was so focused she was almost in a dream state. Under Victor’s tutelage, Skye had been making great strides.  If she concentrated, she could now feel the vibrations in everything—they were everywhere!  Everything, everyone, everywhere, was always shaking—even if it was on the atomic level.

                “Okay, I want you to take off just the left corner of the block.  Do you think you can do that?  Just move those molecules faster.”

                Skye nodded, and using that new sense to feel the vibrations of the granite block, she focused on the spot she needed and _pushed_ that part faster.  The whole block shook, but only the left corner fell off, melted away like sand under a wave. Skye’s face broke into a huge smile, “I did it!”

                Victor nodded and grinned, “You did it.”

                Skye’s power suddenly turned back on her, and she gritted her teeth as her bones and muscles creaked while her power tried to find an outlet for the vibrations.

                Victor’s arms enveloped her as he breathed in her ear, “I’ve got you, Skye, I’ve got you.”

                “Unnnh,” she cried out as her back arched, power rolling inside her.

                “Let it go, Skye,” Victor commanded, “like we practiced.  Find an outlet.  Everything’s always vibrating, let it shake.  Use the air, let it go.”

                Trying to concentrate, Skye let the power leech into the air.  A deep booming hum filled the air as the air molecules shook, but slowly, Skye fell limp in Victor’s arms. 

                Knowing his soulmate was safe, Victor’s legs abruptly turned to jelly, and he sat heavily, scooping Skye into his lap as he rocked her. Skye allowed herself to be snuggled against Victor’s chest, her head fitting nicely into the hollow of his shoulder as his lips pressed against her forehead. It was so comforting; she temporarily forgot she wanted to take things slowly.

 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/Julian-McMahon_hd_wallpaper_zps63iuxqak.jpg.html)

                She reached up one hand and touched his cheek, “I’m okay,” she soothed.

                “That was a bad one,” he murmured against her hair.

                “It _was_ a bad one,” she confirmed and just let herself bask in his touch.

                Victor stirred, “I should get Jemma—“

                “No,” Skye grabbed on tighter, “just hold on to me for a while.  There have been worse episodes. I’m okay.”

                He settled back again, rocking her slightly.

                “So, I hear you’re throwing a party,” she tried to distract him.

                “Nothing wrong with your ears,” he smiled.

                “Why the splashy gala?” Skye wondered aloud, “You could have just officially declared SHIELD Latverians without the showboating.”

                “Well, it’s not just SHIELD, you know.”  He scooted them back to the wall so he could lean against it while they talked.  “There are 25 other people who have earned citizenship this year, including the Fantastic Four.”

                “You gave Sue and Reed citizenship?” Skye pulled back to look at his face.

                “Seemed the least I could do under the circumstances,” Victor shrugged.  “Even if they did insist I include that flaming moron and their resident blockhead.”

                “You gave citizenship to The Human Torch and The Thing too?” Skye asked a little awed.

                “I know, there goes the neighborhood, right?” Victor smiled charmingly.

                “Coulson told me you’re extremely picky as to who gets citizenship,” Skye poked him in the chest without meeting his eye.

                “I am,” Victor lifted an eyebrow, “Having the four people who could help my soul mate understand her powers nearby seemed prudent.”

                Skye felt herself melt a little inside.  He had done it for her.  “So we’re celebrating everyone’s new status with a night of dinner and dancing?”

                “And drinking,” Victor assured her, “I don’t know that I could interact with those four without a bit of social lubrication.”

                Skye threw her head back and laughed.

                Victor answered with a grin, before continuing in a serious tone, “I am serious about celebrating, though. It’s important to celebrate when a nation becomes a force to be reckoned with.”

                “Aren’t we a bit on the small side to be a world power?” Skye wondered.

                The fact that she had included herself in the “Latverian-we” statement warmed Victor down to his toes. “Well, Great Britain is only a tiny island, and look what they accomplished,” he reasoned.

                “Sure, and they only went through a tiny imperialist phase where ‘resistance was futile’,” Skye grinned.

                Victor blinked, “Did you just compare Latveria to the Borg?”

                “Strictly speaking I compared Great Britain to the Borg. But, hey, if the assimilation fits…” she trailed off into a shrug and a grin. Then it was her turn to blink at him, “Wait, you got that reference?”

                Victor sighed heavily, shifting Skye in his arms, “I went to college in the US, Skye.  My major was in metaphysical science.”  Skye continued to look blank, so he explained, “What do you think science majors do in their spare time?”

                Skye shrugged, “I mean, FitzSimmons used to have _Doctor Who_ marathons, but…” she trailed off as her jaw dropped.  When she recovered herself, it was to break into helpless giggles that escalated into full-blown, teary-eyed hilarity complete with snorting.

                Victor felt his face flush—Good Lord, he hadn’t blushed in at least a decade he was sure.

                “You’re—you’re,” Skye started hiccupping, “You’re a Trekkie!” She poked a slim finger into his chest as she attempted to compose herself, “Dr. Freaking Doom is a Trekkie!”

                Victor’s lips twitched, “It wasn’t the only show we watched, you know—I’ve been known to marathon a season or two or _Doctor Who_.” His expression became more serious, “But I haven’t gone by Dr. Doom in quite some time.”

                Skye nodded solemnly, though she was secretly thrilled to have discovered a rather human foible in The Overlord.  It make her feel special, like she was one of the few to whom he could open up. They stared at each other for another second, both feeling the tug of their soul marks. 

                Victor was leaning in, when Skye snapped to her senses—if things got steamy now, there was no way they were going to be able to stop.  So, she broke the mood the only way she could, “Kirk or Picard?”

                Fine lines crinkled around Victor’s eyes, and she realized she wasn’t fooling anyone, “Piccard for leadership,” he answered, “but Kirk for flair.”

                And just like that, Skye knew her heart was in real trouble.

* * *

 

                “No, Mack, your feet need to make a box pattern,” Bobbi instructed, again, with a smile.  “Look, watch us again.”  She and Hunter slowly moved their feet correctly in pattern as Bobbi counted off, “One, two, three, one, two, three…” They had moved into the large SHIELD common area and had pushed all the furniture to one side so they would have room for lessons.

                Mack’s large frame was nearly bent double to partner with Jemma; Fitz was watching from against the wall with a smirk on his face.  The engineer had hated ballroom dancing from the moment he had to take the classes at the Academy, he was perfectly content sitting this lesson out—but he did enjoy watching the normally self-possessed Mack fumble his way around the floor.

                “Don’t look down,” Jemma told Mack calmly.  “Just move your feet and I’ll adjust—that’s why the man leads and the woman moves with him.”

                “I’m going to step on your feet,” Mack groused.

                “I’ll survive,” Jemma smiled kindly, though secretly she did fear the large man’s enormous feet—that was going to hurt.

                And it did.  Poor Mack really tried, but Jemma’s feet were going to have bruises from the many times he’d trod on her.  As his giant foot once again pulverized her toes, Jemma didn’t quite manage to stifle a wince.

                “That’s it, I’m cutting in,” a voice Jemma didn’t recognize sounded from behind her.  Before she could react, Jemma was swept into the embrace of a stranger and whirled around the dance floor.  “I’m sorry but I just couldn’t watch the Jolly Green Giant step all over your pretty feet anymore.” He was tall with broad shoulders (though not nearly so large as Mack, thank heavens) and the lean frame of a swimmer. His hair was a dark honey shade that was styled neatly and his eyes were an oh-my-goodness shade of blue.  He was also an exceptional dancer and he danced her around the floor of the empty room with ease of long practice.

 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Miscllaneous/johnny%20s_zps0q1jcxhb.jpg.html)

                Jemma grinned into his handsome face, “You should dip me,” she giggled.

                A look of shock crossed his face just before he smiled broadly and dipped Jemma backwards, supporting her with one strong arm.  As she came back up, giggling and flushed, the stranger kissed the back of her hand in a grand gesture. “My name is Johnny, Johnny Storm,” he introduced himself, pulling his t-shirt aside to show her handwriting neatly printed across his collarbone.  “I think you’ve met my sister.”

                “I’m Jemma,” she said shyly, lifting her hair aside to show his blocky writing along her hairline behind one ear.

                “Ah, the adorable biochemist my sister thinks is brilliant,” Johnny smiled knowingly.

                “Sue said that?” Jemma squeaked, thrilled.

                “Typical,” Johnny sighed, “I meet my soul mate, and she’s more impressed by my sister.”

                Jemma recognized that Bobbi was shooing everyone out of the room, but just couldn’t spare any attention for anyone other than her soulmate. “If it makes you feel better, you’re the reason I learned how to dance.”

                Johnny smirked, “My sister took one look at my soulmate words and told me I’d better know what I was doing by the time I met you—she taught me to dance almost before I could walk.”  He still held her in his arms, and he pulled her just a bit closer, “Seems like it was worth it—this is the best dance of my life.”

                Jemma blushed and Johnny smiled, liking the effect he had on her as he bent down and kissed his soulmate for the first time. 

                


End file.
